The Strike

The Strike

Kathleen McNamara

A storm in the offing
So many signs
Tree leaves
Silvery in the rising winds
Whipped cream clouds
Mounding ever higher on the horizon
Sipping my sweet-tart lemonade
From my corner of the porch
I am witness
To the birth of a monster

Cream gives way to lead
To an angry, growling black
Stalking our town
Like a panther on the hunt
Rabbits in the yard pause
Their mealtimes forgotten
Noses twitch and they scatter
The smell of rain heavy on the winds
The deep growls of the storm beast
Their warning

The onslaught is swift
Talons of lightning rake the sky
Thunder crashes overhead
I, too, run
For the shelter of my home
From my spot by the door
I felt it pass…
Ferocious energy!
Tingling on my arms
I heard it pass…
The air sizzling in its wake
The deathblow struck
Both brilliant and deafening

An ancient pine succumbs
The wound, fatal
A charred black stump
Steams in the rain
The raging ebony behemoth
Continues its relentless march east
Thunder echoing in the wake

Songbirds resume their chirps
The rabbits cautiously creep out
And the sun returns
The smell of damp earth mingles
With the scent of burning pine
I mourn the passing of the tree

© Copyright 2017 Sand Castles Shopgirl 739 (kmac390 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.

Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.